The Legends of JetPack The Rust Bowl Compendium
by Gustauve-Drakenhime
Summary: The JetPack server is in grave peril! Darkness is rising, threatening all who would call the server home! Now, a small but dedicated group of individuals have taken on the mantle of protectors as they attempt to defy the odds and turn back the rising tide of evil that despoils and corrupts all in its wake; a cancerous filth that calls itself 'The Bronies'. May God help us all!
1. The Knights of JetPack

First off, if anyone gets butthurt because of this story, then mission accomplished! Next, I'd like to thank the various members of the JetPack Servers' '24/7 JETPACK SERVER ReMIXED' whose names and likenesses I used, without their permission of course, for existing. This story will start out slightly humorous, and then get slightly heavy near the middle, then lightly out near the end. Finally, this story is, for all intents and purposes, a satire of the JetPack community's response to the increasing amount of 'My Little Pony' faggotry that has infected Team Fortress 2: We're sick of it. If you are a pony lover, this is not your story, so go home, grab some thick rope, tie it around your neck and hang yourself, please.

This compendium is a collection of short stories covering a single arc in the JetPack Server's fanfiction section. All of them are connected around a central motif, but can be read individually from one another. The stories used were 'The Legends of JetPack; The Knights of JetPack', 'The Legends of JetPack; Battle of the Rust Bowl', and 'Letters to Rebbecca'. I have broken these stories down into smaller sections that can, themselves, stand alone, but also to allow for a more fluid chronology. When viewing the various 'Letters to Rebbecca', please keep in mind that these are loosely based off the letters I regularly sent to my then fiance during my service in Afghanistan, and these individual segments act as breaks in the overall arc while providing a background story. They are positioned to loosely follow the story proper. On a final note, the names and people used in this story are not original characters - they represent real members of the JetPack community, and I have stayed true to their personality to the best of my ability.

So, with that out of the way, I present to the rest of you _normal_ viewers;

**The Legends of JetPack; The Rust Bowl Compendium**

_A Story by Gustauve Drakenhime, and a gift to the members of the JetPack Server_

Ah, another glorious day on the JetPack server!

Yes, there's no place quite like it; a magical land full of mystery and wonderment! A land where the very skybox is the limit – where blood and rockets fall like rain and a cacophony of strange noises and exhilarating music fills the air. A place where both simpleton and psychopath meet and frolic/murder amongst the metaphorical poppy fields of unadulterated wonder! A magical land filled with butthurt and douche-baggery, where people explode for no other reason than that it's just funny, and rainbows fly out of Sebass' ass! Yes, there truly is no place quite like the JetPack server! But all is not well in this wondrous place of fun and mayhem. And it is here that our story truly begins.

The mighty and ostentatious Primary Law Enforcer X, or P.L.E.X, lord primogenitor and virtual paradigm overseer of JetPack, felt the tremulous portents of things to come, and in all of his artificially splendorous and digital wisdom did he thus convene the Council of the JetPack; an ancient and secretive group, whose history spans back all of six months ago! And it was at this council that the fate of the server, and indeed all of the interwebs, would be decided.

We find ourselves privy to this meeting through the glories of the fourth wall effect…

High above the tallest mountains, in the deepest part of the great skybox of JetPack lore, hovers the Great Temple From Old, (or GTFO for short) a dizzying structure of gothic spires and flying buttresses – its mighty walls are built of great crack-cocaine stones and inlayed with crystal meth windows, where fountains of heroin accentuate verdant gardens of cannabis, and its vaulted hallways are lit with the smoky incandescence of a hundred thousand opium lamps, and running through its great estates, a river of morphine, shimmering beneath the sun as if it were a field of diamonds; It is from here, on the precipice of Nirvana itself, that the great and powerful P.L.E.X doth reign!

In the throne room/ kitchen of the GTFO, the meeting was nearly ready to commence, with such titans as Gavitro of the Butthurt, Sebass the Queer Licker, LemonCake of the Sippy Cup, Flanny the Quintessential, Somedude of the Locker Room, Gustauve the Cruel and Unusual, Remi the Awkward, Kenny the Communist, Wheatley the Rat Rider, PolarStar the Unbearable and Gedab the Fudge Packer (all of whose monikers are complete bullshit… accept for maybe Sebass.) Would that only P.L.E.X were to arrive soon! In the meantime, the council kept itself occupied with those matters that were deemed vital to the survival of the server; namely, dicking around.

The refrigerator was slammed closed as Sebass announced, "Uh, guys, we're sort of out of milk." From a dark corner near the microwave, Wheatly observed in her lilting, synthetic manner, "I just saw a five liter jug of milk in there not 3 minutes ago." "Oh, yeah," he replied, "I sort of used that up already…" Turning from a conversation between himself and Remi, Flanny asked, "How on earth could you have possibly used up that much milk so quickly?" From a nearby chair, Kenny boisterously exclaimed, "He was probably pouring it all over himself again – you really need to stop doing that, man, it's not cool." A string of laughter and guffaws quickly followed, as Sebass pulled out some excuse about needing to get more Vitamin D or some such nonsense. The merriment was cut short however when P.L.E.X, riding an aluminum chariot pulled by a hundred ferrets and held together by the tears of a thousand prepubescent gamers came squeaking into the meeting place. The council could finally convene!

Quirking a brow at such an entrance, PolarStar was the first to speak, "P.L.E.X – so kind of you to finally join us." Kenny quickly interjected, "Where the hell have you been, man? We've been here for hours!" Having no true face with which to convey emotions, P.L.E.X could only shrug and reply, "Sorry guys, I had to take a major dump, it was pretty serious business." Everyone nodded in acquiescence - taking a dump was indeed a serious matter. Gedab was next to break the silence, "Why are we here, P.L.E.X?" Seemingly ignoring the question, P.L.E.X went on to say, "You're all probably wondering why you are here, so I will get to the point of the matter – the server is in grave peril." A collective gasp filled the room as the council muttered amongst one another, trying to discern what could possibly threaten their beloved server.

Many of them could scarcely conceive of anything that could possibly harm JetPack, whilst others had their suspicions. But sadly, none could have conceived how completely dire the situation truly was, as P.L.E.X elaborated further; "Yes, I'm afraid that scourge foretold of in the Great Book of Pootis has risen, and shall soon descend upon our fair server; the Great Cancer is coming, and we must prepare." Cries of horror and outrage sprang forth and an upwelling of despair nearly overcame all who were present. "No!" Gavitro cried, "Not here, not now!" LemonCake nearly choked on his own bile as he rasped, "Impossible, it can't be!" Sebass nearly broke down in hysterics as he wailed, "Please God, no, please no!" And though P.L.E.X wished he could alleviate their fears, he knew that no amount of soliloquy or supple words could gloss over the ugly truth; the Bronies were coming…

From his perch against the Lazy Susan, Gustauve growled out, "Fucking pony-loving horse-fuckers, coming into servers and ruining it for everyone else." A glassy-eyed look of reminiscence covered his face as he continued in his deep, baritone voice, "I've seen it all before, on the Pootis Server; they start out harmless enough, a few one line references here, a pony-meme joke there, but soon enough more and more of them come, bringing their horrible pony-themed names and dumb-assed clan tags, getting into long faggoty-assed discussions about the gayest things pertaining to their fandom, and soon enough, every other spray is pony-pornography!" A vicious hatred filled his voice as he went on, marked by the subtle twitching of his eye as he recalled the horrors of a time long passed to memory, locked away in a vault of nightmares that were too real.

"By the time we realized that we had a problem, it was damn near to late – they had plants in the administration, double-agents who worked to divide us and sabotage our efforts at curtailing the cancer as it spread; soon enough, anyone who spoke out against the darkness that was chocking our once verdant garden of paradise was ostracized and in the case of some of the more vocal opponents, banished from the land for all eternity." He began to tremble as he finally recalled the worst moment of the scourge, "In those final days, before those of us who were left of the original Pootisians disbanded and went our separate ways, the true horror of the Bronies was revealed; they hijacked the server and began to shape it to their wretched whims, to reflect on the outside the evil that lay within them."

"The land was changed irrevocably, turned into a hellish nightmare of bright and happy queer-ass neon colors, filled with a wretched sense of artificial cheer that made even the strongest of us want to vomit." "The atmosphere changed, too." He continued, "No longer the sounds of gun fire and shenanigans, but something wholly altogether more unpleasant: recorded My Little Pony songs set on a loop track that never, ever ended – the very air became poisonous to those who had once inhabited the Pootis server; but even then, some of us held out for a miracle, but by that time, even God himself seemed to abandon us, as the final horror was revealed!" He began to tremble as he recalled the final days of the Server he had once helped to build, a single tear trailing down his face as he cried out, "The players themselves began to change, no longer human, but some sort of sick twisted abomination – half man, half pony, leaving trails of glitter and blatant homosexuality in their wake, there was no opt out measure, no way of remaining human on the server, and it was that which finally forced us to realize that the server we knew and loved was dead, and had been dead for quite some time…"

Finally ending his story, it took all of his effort to not break down into a gibbering mess, and while Gavitro tried to console him, PolarStar turned to P.L.E.X and asked, "Is there nothing we can do to prevent this from happening to us as well?" The great enforcer took time to collect himself and replied, "That is precisely why I have called this meeting into order; the Coucil of the JetPack was created for this very reason – as a bulwark against the wretched evil that is the 'My Little Pony' fandom." Turning to look at them all, he further elaborated, "Each of you has something that can work to thwart the pony scourge; ear-splitting mic-spam, trollish wit, unyielding anger, bitch-moves, and adminz-aboose – each of you must work as one to ensure the most Brony hostile atmosphere imaginable."

"As such, I have decided that they Council of the JetPack will be no more, for in its place shall be a new order, an order of Knights who will stand together in fidelity to the defense of our glorious server of JetPack, and it shall be henceforth known as the 'Knights of… er… JetPack, I guess." While the name wasn't exactly awe-inspiring, the former council could not help but agree, and so with a rousing cheer, the council was officially disbanded and in its place the Knights of JetPack arose!

To make it official, P.L.E.X reached into the back of his ferret-drawn chariot and withdrew a plastic lightsaber, with which he began to christen the knights, starting with PolarStar. "No longer are you to be known as PolarStar the Unbearable – on this day you will be known as PolarStar Antibronius Maximus." Turning next to Gedab, he said, "And you, Gedab the Fudge Packer, you shall henceforth be known as Gedab of the Meatlocker." Turning then to Gustauve, who with the help of Gavitro managed to stop acting like such a big baby, he declared "You will no longer go by the title of 'Cruel and Unusual', but shall hereby be known as Gustauve, Destroyer of Dreams."

And so he progressed from one to the next; Sebass the Queer Licker became Sebass, Lord of Playdoh, Gavitro of the Butthurt was rechristened to Gavitro the Untrollable, Kenny the Communist then became Kenny the Revolutionary, LemonCake of the Sippy Cup became LemonCake of the Jigsaw, Wheatley the Rat Rider was reborn as Wheatley the Chode Grinder, Flanny the Quintessential became Flanny the Ecumenical, Remi the awkward would henceforth be known as Remi, Rider of Bikes, and finally, Somedude of the Locker Room was born again as Somedude from the Glue Factory.

With the final knighthood bestowed, the ceremony was complete, and with a shout, P.L.E.X declared, "You are now the Knights of JetPack, and it will be through you and by the grace of Almighty God himself that we will attempt to turn back that tide of filth that is upon us!" It was then that a light from the heavens fell down upon them, and a voice like thunder burst forth, saying, "Right on."

And so, another chapter in the legend and lore of JetPack has begun, and the trials that we all will soon face will not be met alone!


	2. Letters to Rebbecca - Letter One

My Dearest Rebbecca,

It has been some time since last I wrote to you, my darling, and I must apologize for that. Things have taken a turn for the worst here in Big City; the enemy made a preemptive strike and we have been reeling ever since. It is darkest night as I write to you, and a light rain has set in. It's funny, not six hours ago, the sky was filled with smoke, and the land was blackened by soot, and now it seems that nature will wash it all away. If only life were such, that a mere rain could solve all that ails us in these dire times – but the scourge that plagues us is an altogether implacable sort of beast. Oh Rebbecca, I pray that you may never see what horrors have befallen us here; I would not wish it upon even my most loathsome of enemies. They come at all hours of the day, seemingly intent on destroying us at all cost - I'm must go now – Sebass claims to have seen something scurrying through the darkness, and he hasn't been wrong so far. I can only hope that this letter manages to reach you safely; I am alive, and am constantly thinking of you.

With all of my love,

Gustauve


	3. Letters to Rebbecca - Letter Two

Meine Schmetterling,

I can only hope that the swiftness of the wind is with JapKang as he runs this letter to the courier post; he will need it. Last night, one of them made it into the control nexus and sabotaged the re-spawn module; we don't know how it managed to get by the defense network (though I have my suspicions), but it's no longer important. We are now officially in a last man standing scenario. Think Tank took a look at it, but as far as he can tell, nothing is wrong with it other than the fact that it refuses to work. P.L.E.X himself is personally looking into it, but it will take time, meine liebschone. Until then, we will have to take defensive measures – already we have begun digging a network of trenches and tunnels on a nearby hill. PolarStar is heading the effort; he has devised a network of fixed gun emplacements and earthen walls, though I cannot see this as a permanent solution. I will go to him with my concerns later tonight on the matter, but for now I must prepare. With no re-spawn system, I will be hard-pressed to effectively tend to the men, so I have taken to gathering as much medical supplies as possible.

I think of you constantly, my dear, and it is the thought of you that gives me hope.

Your loving husband,


	4. Battle of the Rust Bowl - Part One

It was indeed a black day on the JetPack server… Well, technically, it was actually more of a gray, cloudy, overcast sort of day, but to the beleaguered defenders of a little patch of virtual dirt, it was, for all intents and purposes, a grim, black day. Blackened craters scar the land, a layer of ash covering the once verdant ground - scattering through the air by the whims of a breeze. A pall of inky black smoke rises amongst the bombed out ruins of what was once known as Big City, now referred to as 'The Rust-Bowl'. The wind, while fierce, seems dead and listless as it whips through shattered skyscrapers and across despoiled land, feeding flames and carrying upon it the stench of oil, rust, and above all else, death. The stifling silence was shattered by an almighty 'boom', in its wake, a mushroomed cloud of ash and detritus rising from the banks of a nearby hill.

"Incoming!" Screamed Katastrophic|Kat, who, from her perch atop a stack of crates, had managed to detonate a set of sticky-bombs in time to mulch the first few runners of the vanguard, as another wave of Pony-morphs rushed the ad-hock fortifications. "Jesus Christ, they just keep coming!" bemoaned the Man in the Mysterious Ushanka, who was currently trying to retrieve his knife from the back of some winged abomination's head after a botched back-stab. Quickly locking in another rocket, Heisenberg looked around and asked, "Does anyone know where the fuck Valentine ran off to?" Gustauve, who was currently treating a rather nasty arrow-wound to Hell's Angel's torso, quickly answered, "He ran off towards the warehousing district, shouting some nonsense about saving the server or some-such nonsense!" A brief, yet strangled yelp of pain from his patient was met with a contrite quip from the German as he snarled, "Oh, quit your bitching and hold still, I've almost got it out."

To which his rather involuntary patient snapped, "Yeah, well it fucking hurts, damn it!" All the while, the scuttling tides of sub-human brony filth continued on a mad dash towards what many on the server referred to as 'The Glue Factory', a cleverly situated ring of trenches and crenelations situated at the top of a steep hill, offering a good vantage from which to hold out until a more permanent solution could be had. Said solution was a bunker complex being constructed by both PolarStar and Somedude further into the hills beyond the hydro-purification plant, far and across the stretch of rubble that was once a part of the Old Town district. While not invulnerable, the hilltop holdout had managed to weather several dozen waves of furious horsified freaks for the past twelve hours or so, and while there were a few casualties, the overwhelming majority of the defenders had managed to hold fast.

Of course, this didn't seem to help the fact that there appeared to be no end to this cancerous scourge that threatened our dear server. If anything, it only seemed to drive the bronies to into a greater frenzy, as recently they had begun using such butthurt tactics as Rage Heavies, W+M1 Pyros, Caber Kamikazes and even a few Pomson Potshots! Worse still were the Piss Snipers and Buffalo Soldiers, who had a nasty habit of targeting the Engineers who maintained the sentry gun network that ultimately kept the ponyfuckers off the hill. As the enemy vanguard faltered once more under the withering storm of a dozen turrets, the outlying elements prepared for a skirmishing run – a tactic that had been growing increasingly bolder as time went on. The first of these raiders to come into firing range was a strange amalgam of some sort; cross between a scout and a some sort of pink unicorn, or at least it could have been a unicorn; there was no definitive way of knowing due to the fact that as soon as it got in range, it's head seemingly decided to burst into a million tiny bits of ichor and bone.

"Oh man!" Exclaimed Remi as he jumped up and down excitedly, "Did you guys see that shot?" To which Flanny replied, "Yeah, Rem', nice shot - now get down!" before tackling his friend just in time as a yellow beam of discharge gave proof to the attempt on the marksman's life. "Fucking Piss Shooters," grumbled Jupiter, "No skills whatsoever -" he proceed to take aim with his own rifle and downed the would-be assassin with a perfectly precise head-shot, "Real sniping is an art form." he huffed. The cacophonous staccato of a nearby level three sentry gun was the only indication that one of the bastards had managed to breach the interior range, a narrow band of open space spanning a mere seventy five meters from the front-line trench - far too close for comfort. "Hang on," shouted LemonCake as he grabbed a wrench and a handful of scrap, "Cover me while I fix this, okay?"

Gedab, who was lazily panning his scatter-gun from side to side nodded in affirmation as the Cakemeister made his way to the sentry. Just as he reached the contraption, the tale-tell hiss of a cloaking module deactivating was all the warning anyone had as a hideous brony-spy appeared! "Look out Lemon!" cried Gedab and several others who had been watching. "Fuck!" Cried LemonCake, who had managed to turn around just in time to avoid instant death, and instead took the blow to his shoulder. He quickly brandished his wrench, and with a mighty heave, belted the dastardly equinetard right across its ugly face. The sickening crunch was satisfying to most everyone present.

Unfortunately, the strike had been a critical hit, and LemonCake was dangerously close to death. Seeing a friend in need of medical assistance, Gustauve quickly grabbed a med pack and shouting, "Hang on Lemon, I've got you!" hopped the fortifications and made a mad dash towards the wounded Engineer. Upon reaching his staggered ally, he quickly went to work, deftly applying the necessary triage, and had it not been for LemonCake's constant vigil of their surroundings, the sudden ionization of air would have been missed, and the supposedly dead spy would have struck true. Fortunately that had not been the case, and so the Medic was given ample warning by his cohort; "Gus, behind you!" Quickly realizing what a monumentally stupid blunder he had just made, the German had just enough time to draw his Ubersaw, turn towards his adversary, and with a practiced, almost instinctual motion, jammed the saw straight through the creeper's face, spraying the both of them in a bout of neon-yellow blood and green brain matter; a random critical hit!

"Nice kill, Gustauve," congratulated LemonCake as he quickly finished repairing the defense array, "And thanks for the help." Gustauve, for his part, merely wiped the viscera from his trusted sidearm, and with a stiff nod, replied, "It was no problem my friend, I was merely doing my job; namely keeping your sorry ass alive." The two of them grinned at each other as a silent nod of understanding passed between them. Their moment of camaraderie was abruptly interrupted when Sebass, who had just woken up and was currently rotating shifts with Jupiter (who was struggling to keep his eyes open), quipped "Hey you two, save the bromance crap for later – we've got more inbound." With a roll of his eyes, Gustauve turned away, mumbling something about the merits of lobotomizing team mates, as Lemon shouted back, "Fuck you, Sebass." The semi-pro troll merely chuckled in response, delighted in the fact that even in such a dire situation, there were still jimmies to be rustled…

Legends of JetPack: The Battle of 'The Rust Bowl', Part One

It was indeed a black day on the JetPack server… Well, technically, it was actually more of a gray, cloudy, overcast sort of day, but to the beleaguered defenders of a little patch of virtual dirt, it was, for all intents and purposes, a grim, black day. Blackened craters scar the land, a layer of ash covering the once verdant ground - scattering through the air by the whims of a breeze. A pall of inky black smoke rises amongst the bombed out ruins of what was once known as Big City, now referred to as 'The Rust-Bowl'. The wind, while fierce, seems dead and listless as it whips through shattered skyscrapers and across despoiled land, feeding flames and carrying upon it the stench of oil, rust, and above all else, death. The stifling silence was shattered by an almighty 'boom', in its wake, a mushroomed cloud of ash and detritus rising from the banks of a nearby hill.

"Incoming!" Screamed Katastrophic|Kat, who, from her perch atop a stack of crates, had managed to detonate a set of sticky-bombs in time to mulch the first few runners of the vanguard, as another wave of Pony-morphs rushed the ad-hock fortifications. "Jesus Christ, they just keep coming!" bemoaned the Man in the Mysterious Ushanka, who was currently trying to retrieve his knife from the back of some winged abomination's head after a botched back-stab. Quickly locking in another rocket, Heisenberg looked around and asked, "Does anyone know where the fuck Valentine ran off to?" Gustauve, who was currently treating a rather nasty arrow-wound to Hell's Angel's torso, quickly answered, "He ran off towards the warehousing district, shouting some nonsense about saving the server or some-such nonsense!" A brief, yet strangled yelp of pain from his patient was met with a contrite quip from the German as he snarled, "Oh, quit your bitching and hold still, I've almost got it out."

To which his rather involuntary patient snapped, "Yeah, well it fucking hurts, damn it!" All the while, the scuttling tides of sub-human brony filth continued on a mad dash towards what many on the server referred to as 'The Glue Factory', a cleverly situated ring of trenches and crenelations situated at the top of a steep hill, offering a good vantage from which to hold out until a more permanent solution could be had. Said solution was a bunker complex being constructed by both PolarStar and Somedude further into the hills beyond the hydro-purification plant, far and across the stretch of rubble that was once a part of the Old Town district. While not invulnerable, the hilltop holdout had managed to weather several dozen waves of furious horsified freaks for the past twelve hours or so, and while there were a few casualties, the overwhelming majority of the defenders had managed to hold fast.

Of course, this didn't seem to help the fact that there appeared to be no end to this cancerous scourge that threatened our dear server. If anything, it only seemed to drive the bronies to into a greater frenzy, as recently they had begun using such butthurt tactics as Rage Heavies, W+M1 Pyros, Caber Kamikazes and even a few Pomson Potshots! Worse still were the Piss Snipers and Buffalo Soldiers, who had a nasty habit of targeting the Engineers who maintained the sentry gun network that ultimately kept the ponyfuckers off the hill. As the enemy vanguard faltered once more under the withering storm of a dozen turrets, the outlying elements prepared for a skirmishing run – a tactic that had been growing increasingly bolder as time went on. The first of these raiders to come into firing range was a strange amalgam of some sort; cross between a scout and a some sort of pink unicorn, or at least it could have been a unicorn; there was no definitive way of knowing due to the fact that as soon as it got in range, it's head seemingly decided to burst into a million tiny bits of ichor and bone.

"Oh man!" Exclaimed Remi as he jumped up and down excitedly, "Did you guys see that shot?" To which Flanny replied, "Yeah, Rem', nice shot - now get down!" before tackling his friend just in time as a yellow beam of discharge gave proof to the attempt on the marksman's life. "Fucking Piss Shooters," grumbled Jupiter, "No skills whatsoever -" he proceed to take aim with his own rifle and downed the would-be assassin with a perfectly precise head-shot, "Real sniping is an art form." he huffed. The cacophonous staccato of a nearby level three sentry gun was the only indication that one of the bastards had managed to breach the interior range, a narrow band of open space spanning a mere seventy five meters from the front-line trench - far too close for comfort. "Hang on," shouted LemonCake as he grabbed a wrench and a handful of scrap, "Cover me while I fix this, okay?"

Gedab, who was lazily panning his scatter-gun from side to side nodded in affirmation as the Cakemeister made his way to the sentry. Just as he reached the contraption, the tale-tell hiss of a cloaking module deactivating was all the warning anyone had as a hideous brony-spy appeared! "Look out Lemon!" cried Gedab and several others who had been watching. "Fuck!" Cried LemonCake, who had managed to turn around just in time to avoid instant death, and instead took the blow to his shoulder. He quickly brandished his wrench, and with a mighty heave, belted the dastardly equinetard right across its ugly face. The sickening crunch was satisfying to most everyone present.

Unfortunately, the strike had been a critical hit, and LemonCake was dangerously close to death. Seeing a friend in need of medical assistance, Gustauve quickly grabbed a med pack and shouting, "Hang on Lemon, I've got you!" hopped the fortifications and made a mad dash towards the wounded Engineer. Upon reaching his staggered ally, he quickly went to work, deftly applying the necessary triage, and had it not been for LemonCake's constant vigil of their surroundings, the sudden ionization of air would have been missed, and the supposedly dead spy would have struck true. Fortunately that had not been the case, and so the Medic was given ample warning by his cohort; "Gus, behind you!" Quickly realizing what a monumentally stupid blunder he had just made, the German had just enough time to draw his Ubersaw, turn towards his adversary, and with a practiced, almost instinctual motion, jammed the saw straight through the creeper's face, spraying the both of them in a bout of neon-yellow blood and green brain matter; a random critical hit!

"Nice kill, Gustauve," congratulated LemonCake as he quickly finished repairing the defense array, "And thanks for the help." Gustauve, for his part, merely wiped the viscera from his trusted sidearm, and with a stiff nod, replied, "It was no problem my friend, I was merely doing my job; namely keeping your sorry ass alive." The two of them grinned at each other as a silent nod of understanding passed between them. Their moment of camaraderie was abruptly interrupted when Sebass, who had just woken up and was currently rotating shifts with Jupiter (who was struggling to keep his eyes open), quipped "Hey you two, save the bromance crap for later – we've got more inbound." With a roll of his eyes, Gustauve turned away, mumbling something about the merits of lobotomizing team mates, as Lemon shouted back, "Fuck you, Sebass." The semi-pro troll merely chuckled in response, delighted in the fact that even in such a dire situation, there were still jimmies to be rustled…


	5. Letters to Rebbecca - Letter Three

Meine Schmetterling,

I can only hope that the swiftness of the wind is with JapKang as he runs this letter to the courier post; he will need it. Last night, one of them made it into the control nexus and sabotaged the re-spawn module; we don't know how it managed to get by the defense network (though I have my suspicions), but it's no longer important. We are now officially in a last man standing scenario. Think Tank took a look at it, but as far as he can tell, nothing is wrong with it other than the fact that it refuses to work. P.L.E.X himself is personally looking into it, but it will take time, meine liebschone. Until then, we will have to take defensive measures – already we have begun digging a network of trenches and tunnels on a nearby hill. PolarStar is heading the effort; he has devised a network of fixed gun emplacements and earthen walls, though I cannot see this as a permanent solution. I will go to him with my concerns later tonight on the matter, but for now I must prepare. With no re-spawn system, I will be hard-pressed to effectively tend to the men, so I have taken to gathering as much medical supplies as possible.

I think of you constantly, my dear, and it is the thought of you that gives me hope.

Your loving husband,


	6. Letters to Rebbecca - Letter Four

To the one that I love most,

I cannot begin to describe the elation I felt upon receiving your letter yesterday! I nearly wept with joy upon seeing your elegant scrawl across the envelope, and it was all I could do not to smother JapKang for delivering it, God bless his soul! I am pleased to hear that little Klaus Jr. is coming along so well in his studies, and it touches my heart to know that he worries for my safety. Were Klaus himself still with us, I'm sure he would be proud of his son. In regards to my brother Hans, I'm sure he means well – he merely has a hard time interacting with others outside of the family. If anything, I'm touched that he is concerned enough about our relationship to ask such a question; it means he cares about our well-being. And as for the… personal part of your letter, I can hardly wait to come back home to you, as there is indeed so much time we need to catch up on.

Things have settled slightly here in the 'Rust Bowl', as we have taken to calling this once great metropolis, if only temporarily; our adversaries have lost enough cannon fodder to warrant a call for reinforcements from surrounding areas. Rainbow has taken to assisting me with patching up our wounded – I greatly appreciate his efforts, the burden of it all was so very tiring for just one man. I do not know how much longer we can hold out, but I can only endeavor to persevere, if only to see you again one day.

Thinking of you always,

Your Gustauve


	7. Valentine's Quest

Meanwhile, at roughly the same time as the assault on the hill was going on, across the desolated ruins of the once majestic metropolis, amongst a string of partially demolished warehouses, we find Valentine rummaging through the wreckage, seemingly looking for something. "Come on," he muttered, "where is it?" Overturning a chunk of particleboard and finding nothing, he let loose a snarl as he turned around and kicked a random piece of debris out of frustration. "Come on!" He screamed, his voice echoing off the walls, "Where the fuck is it!" His fit of anger was momentarily halted at the seemingly innocuous sound of ruble pattering against the ground. However, Valentine hadn't made it this far behind enemy lines by being stupid, and he wasn't about to disregard a potential threat. Slowly drawing his Widowmaker, and cautiously crawling to the nearest defensible cover, he waited. He didn't have to wait for very long.

What met his sight nearly knocked the wind out of poor Valentine; there, stalking through the smoke filled, dust laden parking lot, was a brony spawned demoknight; a string of severed heads in various states of decay festooned around the hilt of its Eyelander - and it was undoubted looking for him. 'Shit,' he thought with a wince, 'This is bad – why couldn't it have been a scout or a spy; something that isn't a pain in my ass?' While undoubtedly aware that its prey was near at hand, the abomination was obviously ill at ease as it cautiously perused the area. 'So,' the intrepid Engineer thought to himself, 'He's alone; this makes things a lot easier.' But even so, this wouldn't be a walk in the park, as the gold dueling badge proudly displayed on the wretched creature's chest gave testament to; this was no Free2Play noob, and he undoubtedly knew how to fight.

Surreptitiously glancing around the area, Valentine quickly began to formulate a plan of action; he had to act assertively, and without error, or this could wind up backfiring on him. Picking up a shard of concrete with his gunslinger prosthetic, he quickly extrapolated the trajectory and, with a hefty toss, chucked it at a stack of tin roofing five meters behind and to the right of the horse-hugger. Just as he hoped, the saddle-sucking fagtard jumped in surprise before turning around and charging towards where it thought its quarry lay. Quickly taking his chance, Valentine leaped from cover, and made a mad dash towards the more intact portion of the warehousing district. The shout of fury the brony let loose was indication enough that his escape had not gone unnoticed, and it was pennies to pounds that he was now being hotly pursued.

Quickly finding the spot he was looking for, Valentine hastily opened his blueprint module and laid down a mini-sentry as he turned the corner and rounded back down a side venue in the hopes of flanking his would-be murderer. The trilling chirp of the motion tracker registering was met with a startled yelp as the rhythmic calliope of large caliber rounds hitting home began to sing forth; it was most satisfying. However, the smirk that graced his lips soon began to fall as he realized that the turret was still firing. It disappeared altogether when his status monitor informed him that the little sentry gun was taking damage. Gritting his teeth, he put as much power into his legs as he could, rounded another corner, and came face to face with his adversary, who was just finishing off the bullet throwing construct, a half dozen gaping holes riddled its body, seeping a bright, rainbow colored liquid that he could only assume was the brony's corrupted lifeblood.

Catching the Engineer in the corner of his eye, the pony-loving manchild let loose a battle cry and charged headlong towards its target. Valentine had only enough time to get two shots off before the Targe bowled him over, knocking the Widowmaker out of his reach! He had enough sense to roll out of the way in time to avoid the claymore that came down where his head had been just seconds prior, and as he rose up, he had to throw himself at the ground once more to avoid the sweeping stroke that was aimed at his neck. Thoroughly frustrated by its prey's seeming reluctance to die quickly, the putrescent pony-fucker bellowed, "Hold still and die, you intolerant hate-fag!" Then with all of its might it brought its sword down upon our hardhat wearing hero!

The hydraulic prosthetic that managed to stop the down stroke came as an unpleasant surprise to the brony bastard. It was further distraught to find that its cold steel blade had thoroughly lodged itself into the inner workings of the Gunslinger, and could not be withdrawn. As if to compound its misfortune, the Engineer simply tugged the sword straight from its owner's hands, effectively nullifying any future threat. Letting loose a morbid chuckle, Valentine slowly rose to his feet and began to stalk towards the foul foal-licker; the tables had just been turned. Casually removing the sword from his now damaged Gunslinger, Val methodically drew a Southern Hospitality from his side satchel as he continued to loom towards his target. With every step forward he took, it took a step back. Sadly, the brony failed to realize that there was no escape until he backed into a brick wall. The look of horrified shock that graced its face was matched by Valentine's smug grin of satisfaction as he planted the hobnailed pommel of his wrench into the ponyfag's gut via a vicious under hook.

Stooping over from the force of the attack, the doomed wretch coughed up a smattering of blood before shakily looking up into the impassive face of its doom. Valentine casually remarked, "Love and tolerate this." before bringing the blunt end of his wrench down with all that was within him upon his victims skull, severing it messily from its lower jaw into a gruesome mixture of brain, bone, and viscera, its tongue and jaw spasming as bouts of viscous, mufti-hued ichor spumed forth from its gaping neck. Kicking the corpse over, and sliding down to the ground, using the wall for support, Valentine didn't even try to wipe the copious amount of inhuman blood from his person; he didn't bother extricating himself form the growing pool of gore that he was sitting in, either. He could only stare at the body of his enemy as he wondered aloud, "What the hell were you even doing out here anyways?"

The only noise that seemed to answer him was the sickening gurgle of oxygen and blood bubbling forth from the headless corpse. While not exactly helpful, Val was already coming to his own conclusion as he slowly leaned forward and began searching the body – rummaging through pouches and pockets until he noticed the silver chain hanging from its neck, partially obscured by a splash of quickly darkening tie-dye blood. Forcing the bile back down his throat, he shakily reached forward, trepidation full and apparent, as he quickly grasped the chain and gave a tug, revealing a Pipboy. But this wasn't just any Pipboy; this was his Pipboy, and the very object he had been frantically searching for. Realizing how incredibly implausible such a coincidence actually was, he muttered, "You have got to be kidding me." Quickly looking towards the sky, as if expecting some divine being to be looking over him, he perished the notion and haltingly staggered to his feet as he headed back towards his objective.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back where he started, sifting through the rubble and debris as he searched for something he'd been working on – something that nobody, not even P.L.E.X knew about – something he'd had tucked away for a day such as this, something that he hoped would help tip the balance in an increasingly dire looking battle for the future of the server he so dearly loved. The hollow twang of rock on metal brought his attention to a pile of concrete and plaster not two meters in front of him; this was it! Frantically pushing the rubble away he was met with a familiar, cobalt colored access hatch. With a few keystrokes of his Pipboy, the locking mechanism that held it shut gave way and, with a vacuous hiss, the hatch lifted as a series of automated low-watt bulbs activated, casting a dim glow that revealed a winding set of sheet metal steps descending into the darkness.

As he walked down the steps, more and more lights activated, and upon taking a final step the entire cavernous complex seemed to hum to life as dozens upon dozens of industrial grade halogen rods activated, releasing a dull, throbbing drone. Other noises began to emerge, as dynamos began spinning, conveyers started turning, and pistons began jumping. And there, three floors down, in the assembly bay stood his pride and joy; quite possibly the only hope of salvation to the server! It was enough to bring a single tear to his eye – such was its beauty. But, no, there was no time to get emotional; he had a job to do! So with a resolute nod, he headed towards an access lift located to his left, punched in the correct command sequence in his PipBoy, and began to ascend to the control center. He had a server to save!


	8. Letters to Rebbecca - Letter Five

My Dear Sweet Rebbecca,

It is darkest night as I write this letter. Poor little Emily (bless her heart), could no longer stay awake, even with the treat of destruction, and she is now resting comfortably against me. Sanders and I are on watch duty tonight, and she volunteered to come along. The three of us had a wonderful time of it all, talking and laughing together. It brings me such joy to know that we can still laugh in such dire times. Sanders is currently stirring a pot of coffee, something to take the edge off our weariness. Never have I seen a man manage to make coffee whilst simultaneously monitoring the horizon like he does. It's a reassuring feeling. William is dealing with this whole situation admirably; he has taken to carrying no less than three rifles on him at all times, and the way he maintains them you would think they were his children! You know, he named one of them after me – an old, splendidly crafted Ottoman matchlock, from a time when firearms were a sign of status; frankly I'm flattered by the notion. What's more, he's taken to carving insults into the jacket of every shell he carries. When I asked him about it, he merely said that it helps his accuracy. In a way it makes sense; it's something that I feel makes every shot he takes more meaningful

I'm afraid that I must end this letter here, my love; Sanders says he can see them moving across the roadway – they're up to something and we need to insure the safety of the others. Know that you are always in my heart, and that I pray to God that we will reunite soon.

With all of my Love,

Gustauve


	9. Letters to Rebbecca - Letter Six

To my Loving Wife,

I realize that it has been some time since last I wrote to you, and for that I am truly sorry. Things are becoming increasingly more hectic here in the 'Rust Bowl', and I have had other reasons to worry as well. One of the men, Valentine, has been acting strangely as of late – I often catch him staring off towards the Warehousing district, as if he's searching for something. I am not the only one to notice it either – several others have commented on it in passing, and while it is never said, many of us have begun to wonder of him. He has lately become standoffish, easily agitated, and increasingly more secretive; JapKang swore that, as he was out on reconnaissance one night, he saw Val skulking about in the viaduct system… My past experiences with the menace we face have not left me, and I fear treachery; I cannot claim to prove without doubt that Valentine may be a double agent, but the notion will not leave me. I will look further into it before coming to a foregone conclusion.

I am worried, my darling; I cannot help but think that we are leaning on borrowed time. Polar and Somedude have begun to work on the final stages of the bunker, but we may not hold out long enough – we are being bled dry and they have become bolder. I pray to God that I am wrong, but if something should happen to me, know that I will always love you.

With love and hope,

Gustauve


	10. Battle of the Rust Bowl - Part Two

"Fall back – fall back, damn it!" screamed a battered and bruised P.L.E.X, as he unleashed another stream of crit-rockets into the milling tide of bronies that continued to charge up the hill. "Head for the teletporter array," he continued, "We'll make our last stand at the bunker!" The situation had indeed deteriorated to such a degree that 'The Glue Factory' was beginning to crumble – the massive earthen walls had become slick with blood, both human and brony, and was beginning to collapse under the stress of all that it had endured these past few weeks. The trenches had become charnel pits of colorful blood and gore, and the surrounding landscape was so pocked and cratered that the once scenic hill more resembled a moonscape than anything else.

Moose, who was supporting a shell-shocked Ariel on his shoulder, gave an incredulous look towards his superior as he shouted, "Are you insane? We don't even know if the bunker is finished yet; the teleporters won't be fast enough to get us there in time!" In a rare show of hysterics, P.L.E.X rounded on his subordinate and with a scream retorted, "If you have a problem with it than you can stay here and die!" before gathering up as much ammunition as he could physically carry, and hastily began to egress with the rest of the survivors. Gustauve, who had the misfortune of seeing the enforcer's outburst, sidled up to him as they made to move towards the bunker site. Turning towards his friend, Gus asked, "What was that about?" With a huff, P.L.E.X replied, "We don't have time for second-guessing ourselves, the next push those bastards make will be the last – I don't intend to stick around and meet them when they do."

Frowning slightly, Gustauve could only remain silent – after all, it wasn't his place to object, and he could hardly see any other alternative as it were. His moment of introspection was cut short when Dane Vogel came running up to the two of them, panting heavily, and exclaiming, "The teleporters are up and running, P.L.E.X, but it'll still take some time to get everyone across to the bunker system – we need volunteers to stay and hold them off long enough for the others to make it." Instantly, Gustauve exclaimed, "I'll stay." Turning towards him, P.L.E.X asked, "Are you sure? We could really use you at the bunker – some of these guys look to be on their last leg." With a determined nod of his head, the Medic affirmed, "Yes, I'm sure; it's my duty to insure that as many of them as possible make it out of this alive." With a grim sigh, the chief moderator breathed out, "Good man – we'll see about getting you some support."

Quickly calling out to P.L.E.X one last time, Gustauve reached into his breast-side pocket and retrieved a slightly crumpled sheet of paper, saying, "If I don't make it, please, send this note to my wife, Rebbecca – please." Taking the note from his friend, P.L.E.X slowly nodded his acquiescence. With that, Gustauve turned and headed for the rendezvous point. Turning back to Dane Vogel, the primary law enforcer grunted, "Go out and ask for volunteers – we need at least 12; tell them go stand with Gustauve at the array and await further orders." "Sure," confirmed Dane, "I'll get right on that." And with that, the two went their separate ways, one towards the men, and the other towards the teleportation array.

Standing up on a stack of ammo crates, Vogel shouted, "Alright, listen up," at this many turned towards him, "We're getting the hell out of here, but in order to buy enough time for us to take the teleporters out of here, we need a handful of volunteers to stay behind us and hold them off – now, Gustauve has already volunteered, but I need at least a dozen others to come forward as well; do I have any offers?" The crowd silently muttered amongst themselves, until a hand shot up, followed by another, and then two more. In the end, there were fifteen hands, connected to fifteen brave souls who were willing to risk their lives for the sake of the others. Gustauve recognized quite a few of them (namely Sanders, Emily, and Angel), and was delighted to know that he would at least be among good friends in his last moments.

Pointing at the volunteers, Dane Vogel proclaimed, "Alright, so we've got our volunteer; now I need the rest of you to form up into five orderly lines, with the sick and wounded up front – at P.L.E.X's signal I want you to begin taking the teleporters one at a time and head straight for the bunker complex when you exit." As the crowd murmured in confirmation, he continued, "All casualties need to be taken to the triage center as soon as possible, and some of you will need to help with the finishing touches on the fortifications; the rest of you will be designated a section of the complex that you are to defend in groups of six men each; PolarStar will give you further orders upon your arival – now wait for the signal!" Turning once more to the volunteers, he said, "Good luck out there."

"Danke," replied Gustauve, "We are going to need all the luck we can get." Turning towards the rest of the volunteers, the German made a mental tally of who all had decided to risk their necks and assist him. Glancing first to the three he best recognized, he began, 'Let's see, Emily and I are both Medics, Sanders is a Scharfschutzer, Angel is a Heavy.' Turning next to the rest of those that he recognized, he continued – 'Waiyu and Stitch are both Engineers, and Demon is a Spy – Aero Phantom is a Demoknight, while it looks like Red, Ghost, Alucardio and Dr. Cirno are all Demolition-men.' Finally turning towards the last four members, he noted that they comprised of another Heavy, two Scouts and a Pyro. Pointing towards them, he asked, "You four, what are your names?" One of the Scouts answered first, saying, "I'm Lexi." The Pyro spoke up next, "Call me Rage." The Heavy introduced himself as Popcorn, and the final Scout went by Gamer.

Memorizing their names as quickly as possible, Gustauve thanked them for joining and proceeded to say, "I'm not going to pretend that we're going to make it out of this intact, so I just want to say that for the sake of the server, we need to try and keep each other alive – you all know what to do, I would imagine, so I will not impose to you any sort of plan other than this; keep those horse-fucking bastards away from the teleporters at all cost." Just as he finished, a dazzling display of pyrotechnics lit up the sky, causing all to stare in awe. "That was the signal," shouted Dane Vogel, "Go!" Instantly the five teleporters that constituted the array sprang to life with a hum of oscillating energy, and one by one, the survivors stepped through the displacement drives and towards their destination. This was also the signal for the volunteers to get to work.

Immediately, Waiyu began by setting down the plans for a dispenser, whilst Stich simultaneously began building a turret, all the while Rage stood close at hand to prevent any potential sabotage by a rogue spy. The four Demomen promptly began putting down rows upon rows of various explosive charges, blanketing the surrounding area in a minefield of frightening destruction. The two scouts began making runs along the front, taking pot shots at those first few brony abominations that took the initiative up the remainder of the hill. Sanders began methodically laying out a firing zone in his head, as he scoped in his three rifles and loosened his bandoliers. Emily, who at this time switched out her standard Medigun for a Kritzkrieg, began to build a charge on Popcorn, who was toting a Tomislav. Gustauve also began charging his standard Medigun on Angel, who was brandishing his Brass Beast, already rotating with a furious whine. Demon, for his part, seemingly disappeared, no doubt setting up an ambush for some poor unfortunate idiot down at the base of the hill. Phantom merely watched and waited - the white-knuckled grip on his Eyelander the only indication of his apprehension.

All at once, the damn burst. The thundering of footsteps was near deafening, and the war cry of the enemy was fierce. They came as a wave; spewing forth rockets and grenades, Jarates and Baseballs – the first of them to reach the trenches became bogged down in the blood and gore that filled the channels, and were subsequently trampled to death by those who were behind them as they clamored for the defenders' blood. Still more became bogged down in the slog of even further trenches, but even then the momentum continued! It was not until the two sentry guns chirped into activity that the defenders acted! All at once, the minefield that was at one point in time the hill top fort was set off in a blaze of light and sound, the heat wave bursting forth set both cloth and skin alight, shrapnel flew through the air, as did various bits and pieces of the enemy, as the sky began to weep rainbow colored blood!

The now broken wave of attackers was merely a shadow of its former self, but even then they outnumbered our heroes at fifty to one! Instantly, side arms were drawn, swords and bats and wrenches were brandished; the bark of Angel's Brass Beast was deafening as it let loose a torrent of lead into its victims. Phantom careened into the fray with a blood curdling cry as his blade swung to and fro, severing heads as if they were loaves of bread. The constant staccato of Popcorn's Tomislav was accentuated by the tremolo of the Sentry guns as they chew through target after target at a ravenous pace! Already, Emily was fully charged, and at her wards behest she deployed her gift of destruction upon Popcorn, his Tomislav crackling with energy as his shots grew in power; tearing bronies in half, leaving softball sized holes in their bullet riddled corpses!

As Gustauve surveyed all that was happening, he could not help but wonder why the enemy's Snipers had not yet fired upon them, but as his charge meter rang full, he put it out of his mind. Calling out to Angel that he was fully charged, the Heavy gave a nod, and all at once he was filled with energy; his skin began to take on a metallic consistency as he began to glow an angry red – he was invulnerable, and he reveled in the feeling! Many of the enemy began to panic and turn tail, but it was all for naught as they were viciously cut down by all manner of weaponry. Sanders, who had been systematically picking off any of the wretches that dared to hold still for more than a second, saw something in his scope that had given him pause. With a grin, he called out, "Gus, come take a look at this!"

Quickly running towards his good friend, Gustauve looked through the proffered scope, and with a slack jawed look of awe, exclaimed, "I'll be damned!" Out in the midst of the enemy, Gustauve observed Demon as he worked; quickly taking on the guise of a brony to effortlessly run back and forth, inhuming the enemy Snipers and Medics with such grace and subtlety that they Ponyfags could not suspect a thing! The two of them exchanged grins before heading back to work; there was a time and a place for everything. As it were, the first wave of faggotry was quickly mopped up, and the results had been marvelous – hundreds of bronies lied dead at their feet, and the only casualty had been Phantom scraping his knee on a rock! With a cheer, our heroes once again set to work, laying down more bombs and restocking on ammunition – and just in time as well, the next wave was coming, and it looked to be twice as big.

Turning towards the array, Gustauve noted that the line of people waiting to teleport out had diminished by a third; they were making good progress. His thoughts were interrupted as the mine field once again detonated – the pall of dirt and body parts flying through the air blackened the sky as the wretched menace pushed through the wisping smoke and made towards their target. Again, the singing of sentries and the laughter of miniguns rang through the air as the wall of bodies collided with a wall of lead; corpses continued to pile up around them, steadily rising as more and more fell at the defenders feet. Things would continue to run this smoothly for the next five minutes or so until disaster struck in the form of a lucky crit-rocket landing right on top of Waiyu's sentry gun, blowing it sky high and throwing him through the air! Quickly checking that the Engineer was indeed still alive, Gustauve screamed to Rage, "Get him to the Teleporter, Schnell!"

Quickly scooping up his charge, Rage ran for the teleporter array, only to be shot through the leg by an enemy sniper! Instantly springing into action, Alucardio exclaimed, "Shit – Sanders cover me!" With a nod, Sanders swung his rifle towards the enemy assassin and politely removed its head as Al ran towards his two downed allies. Scooping them up, he grunted, "I've got you guys – we're gonna get you out of here!" Running towards the teleporter array, he handed them off to the remaining refugees before charging straight back towards the line! As it were, the line was increasingly shrinking as the brave defenders were pushed further back. Already, Stich had been struck by a spy, his deltoid muscle severed and his good arm useless. Popcorn took an arrow to the head, and was only barely clinging life! Both Lexi and Gamer had fallen victim to a critical grenade, and Demon was nowhere to be found! Dr. Cirno had been liquidated by a Manmelter, whilst Ghost had set off all of his ammunition in a final act of defiant vengeance as he was finally overrun.

Realizing that to remain was suicide, Gustauve cried out, "Pull out - head for the array!" Those that remained ran as quickly as possible, hotly pursued from all angles, and had it not been for a set of explosives that lined the perimeter of the Array to allow for a final escape, they would have never made it out. In a flash of light, the survivors found themselves in front a massive concrete structure with various gun emplacements and battlements surrounding it. Quickly running towards them was none other than PolarStar, a grim look of determination on his face as he asked, "Are you the last of them?" With a frown of his own, Gustauve replied, "Ja, we're all that made it." With a sigh, Polar exhaled, "Good," before pressing a button on his deconstruction module. Behind them, the teleporters exploded in a shower of sparks, as he continued, "Take the wounded down to the medical bay." Pulling Gustauve aside as the others complied, he whispered, "You did good Gus; don't beat yourself up about it." Looking his friend in the eye, the Medic gave a haggard sigh, "I'll be fine - I just need a stiff drink, that's all." With that, he headed into the bunker, followed by Polar who, with a final look towards western horizon, fought off the chill of dread as he surveyed the desiccated hilltop a few kilometers away as it crawled with bronies.


	11. The Final Letter

Meine Leibeschon,

I write this final letter to you in the hopes that, should the worst happen, you will have closure. We are in a fight for our lives; under siege for the last thirteen hours or so. They attacked before the dawning light, and have seldom ceased in their assault! My dear, sweet Rebbecca – I cannot begin to describe the sheer magnitude of their numbers; Gottimhimmel above, there are so many! The ground thunders with their footfalls, and the air is thick with smoke and flame. It's as if hell itself has been vomited forth. The last wave of them seemed to stretch on for hours on end, and it is only in the lull of the moment that I have found the time to put this letter to words. All around me I see bodies, both ours and theirs (but thank God it is mostly theirs!) and the moans of the dying create a macabre chorus that sends my hackles to edge.

P.L.E.X himself is here, fighting with us – a sure sign that this is the final stand – and it is all that he and the other administrators can do to fill in the gaps of our ever thinning ranks. Would that you could see the sights I have beheld; the lights of a hundred-score rockets going off at once, thousands of grenades falling to earth as if they were raindrops, vast, radiant beams of negative energies sweeping across the earth and devouring all in its wake; If we were in a time past, these men would have been considered gods! But for all of their power, the admins are not infallible, and they are susceptible to the fatigue that plagues us all. We are on the precipice of darkness, and it would take but a mere push to send us all spiraling to our doom.

I can hear them, they're charging again. I may have no more than a few minutes left to live, but I have no regrets, save that I may never see you again. I've made my peace with God, and I hold all that I love in my heart – something that they could never possibly destroy. Rebbecca Drakenhime, these past seven years have been the greatest years of my life, and I am forever thankful for the love you have given me, through both the good times and the bad. Every moment we have lived together, laughed together, and lain together – I will treasure those moments for all of eternity. I love you so much that it burns like a furnace within me, I cannot begin to describe the want and need you fill me with, nor could I define the joy and contentment you make me feel when I think of you. I must end this here and now, but know this: Though my body may be broken, and my life on this earth may be cut short – my heart will always be yours and yours alone.

I will always love you, now and forever.

Gustauve Wilhelm Adolfus Drakenhime III


	12. The Saga's Conclusion

The next day was dreary and overcast - the beginnings of a storm, if it were anyone's guess. Gustauve hardly cared as he looked out towards the horizon in abject disgust. Already, those bridle-biting bastards were making their way towards the water plant – they were heading for the bunker, and in numbers that still brought a shiver down his spine. 'This is it then,' he thought, 'we're finished – they'll get through our defenses by sheer weight of numbers alone.' His quiet thoughts of defeat were ended when Gedab, who had made his way up to the roof as well, placed a hand on the German's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. "We're going to get through this, just you wait and see." The Medic could do nothing but continue to look on towards the encroaching cancer that was their enemy. "How can you be so sure of that?" He asked after a few minutes.

Turning to look at his comrade, Gedab simply smiled and said, "I'm can't be – none of us can." Looking back towards the horizon, he added, "We have nothing at this moment if not hope, and hope is a very powerful weapon; if there's still hope, then we will keep fighting." Giving a final squeeze to Gustauve's Shoulder, he said, "Don't give up hope, Gus – find what gives you hope and cling to it." With that, he made to leave, but not before Gustauve called out to him, "Gedab… thank you." With a smile, Gedab replied, "No problem." And on that final note he left Gustauve to his thoughts. 'Hope,' thought Gustuave, 'there is only one thing in this world that still gives me hope.' The image of an angel came to his mind, her wavy blonde hair cascading around her head like a halo, her beautiful blue eyes, so full of life and love, her pink lips, set in that endearing smile she made only for him, and a voice like crystal, so pure and heavenly. 'I will fight on then, if only for the hope of seeing her again.'

By the time the sun had begun to set, a slow, cold rain had begun to fall, as the beleaguered defenders took to their stations. The final battle had arrived – this was their last stand; there was nowhere else to go, if they could not stop the tide of enemies here, than there could be nope hope of ever stopping them. They came in droves, throwing themselves at the outer defenses as if possessed by a spirit of madness, for every one that fell to the automated defenses, ten more took its place. Soon enough, the auto guns fells silent, and the bronies poured in towards the final line of defense that held them out of the realm of JetPack. "This is it," exclaimed P.L.E.X, "Show them no mercy, for they shall show none to you!" The massive cannons that lined the crenelations let loose a thunderous roar, as the resulting explosions tore the land and all upon it asunder, yet still they came.

The bunker complex was indeed formidable, but over the next few hours, as the rain poured down, and the light of the fading sun began to disappear altogether, the first signs of weakness began to become self-evident. Already, a massive fissure ran up the southern wall, the result of a suicide sticky-rush. Many of the cannons were rent and twisted beyond use, as the enemy used Cow-manglers to melt both man and gun alike. On the western wall the enemy had begun using the bodies of their fallen brethren as a ramp to ascend to the roof, and it was all the defenders could do to keep them off. More and more, the defenders found themselves being pushed back, and as the first few invaders made their way onto the roof, it looked to be over!

All at once the booming blare of a horn seemed to silence the entire battlefield, as all eyes looked towards the southern ridge. The noise was immediately apparent – the dull, growling thrum of massive diesel engines and the creaking moan of mechanical treads, the groaning of metal trying to support too great of a weight, and the buzzing of electrical conduits filled the air in a symphony of noise that brought to mind a factory. Then the floodlights peeked over the ridge, casting a harsh glow upon the now unrecognizable water plant. When the metal monstrosity finally made its way over the ridge, neither side could believe their eyes! Three stories high, riveted together, with an array of towers and dishes, blue in color and slowing to a halt, it was all many could do not to stop and openly gawk at it!

The crackle of a microphone sang out as a voice that the defenders immediately recognized called out, "You cock-sucking, mother-fucking, queer-assed sons-of-whores picked the wrong God-damned server to mess with: EAT SHIT AND DIE!" With those final words, the megaphone system flared to life with the electrifying sounds of Guns and Rose's 'Welcome to the Jungle', and the front of the factory on wheels began to open like a drawbridge. The sight that met both attacker and defender alike was incredible; there, back-lit by the inner workings of an assembly line, stood row after row of robots that slowly began to activate with a spark of static discharge and the with humming of gas engines. With eerie coordination and mechanical clatter, they began their descent down the access ramp and into the fray!

With a renewed vigor that could only come from the realization that they had been saved, the defenders gave a raucous shout and began to fight back with all of their might, as the brony scourge was sent reeling! More and more robots sprang forth, and while many were destroyed before even entering combat, even more took their place, straight off the assembly line! It was a perpetual wave of metal monstrosities, turned to a cause of justice by the mad workings of a man with ambition! Stepping out from the cockpit of the mobile factory, Valentine struck a pose and began playing air guitar with gusto. Already, the invaders were hard pressed to either fight back or escape, and with the knowledge that their invasion was effectively broken, they began to disperse in every imaginable direction, but still there were those who refused to run, and while they still drew breath they would continue to fight!

Within hours the last remnants of the cancerous scourge were wiped clean, and the defenders were celebrating with music and laughter, food and drink. Valentine sat and regaled many of them with the story of how he had retrofitted an old, bombed out MvM factory over the past few years with the idea of using it to help defend the server from future threats. While many were slightly upset that he had done so in secrecy, all were glad that he had managed to succeed. It was there, amidst all the revelry and celebration that Gustauve approached Valentine, and offering a drink said, "I must apologize to you Valentine, I had thought you to be a traitor to us for the longest time." With a chuckle, Valentine replied, "Apology accepted, Gus – I'm just glad it actually worked out in the end." Their moment was cut short when Think Tank came out of the bunker with a shout of joy exclaiming, "I managed to fix the respawn – look who all were stuck in limbo!" Stepping aside, he revealed all of those members who had fallen, all who had died in defense of the server!

With a cheer, the entire celebration went into overdrive as everyone enjoyed the feeling of freedom that victory had bestowed upon them! Noticing P.L.E.X looking off into the distance, Gustuave walked up to his side and said, "Well?" Nodding in recognition to this friend, P.L.E.X responded, "Well?" With a relieved smile Gus laughed, "We did it – the server is safe." With a smile of his own, P.L.E.X chuckled, "Indeed it is." And with that, the two of them turned back to the party. Come tomorrow, a new dawn will break across the sky, and a new chapter in the legend of the JetPack server will begin.

The End.


End file.
